The queen clutched the rail of the box with
convulsive grasp. She felt as if she, herself, must cry out to the
audience.

But all was as silent as before.

When the scene was over, the king, addressing Irma, in a careless tone,
said: "Mueller plays excellently, does she not?"

"Wonderfully, Your Majesty, although some parts were overacted. The
passage, 'I have nothing to pardon, because I have not been offended,'
she gave in too sharp a tone, and her voice seemed unnatural. The
sentences of one who had been thus openly humiliated should be more
like dagger thrusts; the words should prepare us for the sharp point of
the dagger that follows them."

Irma's voice was firm and clear. The queen fanned herself, in order to
cool her burning face and prevent herself from betraying her agitation.

One whose conscience reproved her could not have spoken thus. Her voice
must have faltered and the terrible lesson of the play itself must have
petrified her, thought the queen, as she turned toward Irma and nodded
pleasantly.

I am stronger than I imagined, thought Irma to herself, smoothing her
gloves. While she heard Odoardo's words, a mist had arisen before her
eyes. If it had been her father--and it might have been he. A cry arose
from her heart, but did not pass her lips; and now she was quiet and
self-composed. The play progressed without interruption, and, when it
was over, the audience were not content until they had twice called the
Odoardo of the evening before the curtain. The king joined in the
applause.

The court party returned to the palace, and retired to the queen's
apartments for tea.

The queen was cheerful, as if she had escaped from some danger. For the
first time in a long while her bearing was easy and vivacious. A dread
load had been lifted from her heart. She was now free and vowed that
she would never more think basely of any one; and, least of all, of her
neighbor.

They were at tea, and the queen asked her husband: "And had you also
never seen the play before?"

"Oh, yes. I saw it on my travels; I forget where it was." Turning
toward the intendant, he added: "I think that the costume of the last
century was very appropriate. When I saw the play before, it was in
modern attire, which seemed quite out of place. In spite of its classic
character, the play has a thin crust of powder which one dare not blow
away, lest the whole, both scene and action, become unnatural."

The intendant was delighted